The night was dark, but when you're sitting in a room with no light telling ghost stories, it seems entirely encompassing, at least that is what Sirius Black thought as he looked at the rest of his friends whilst James animatedly explained the plot of what had to be the stupidest and most terrifying ghost story he's ever heard combined in one.
Sirius, for one, would never admit to being scared, especially not in a room with Remus, who seemed to be the picture of nonchalance as he snacked on liquorice from his lying position on the floor, or in a room with Peter, who jumped at every possible sound, and most definitely not in a room with James who had spent the better part of the last hour explaining this complicated tale.
How they had ended up in this position was beyond him; they were in their last year of school, theoretically too old to be telling ghost stories and eating sweets. Theoretically, there is never a concept when it comes to James Potter and his ideas, as he puts it “for the shits and giggles then” - which is precisely why Sirius thinks of him as his best friend.
As James finished the tale with a dramatic flourish, the room fell into an uneasy silence. The fire crackled faintly in the hearth, the only sound in the otherwise oppressive quiet. Sirius snorted, trying to mask his unease with a dose of cynicism.
"Brilliant, Potter," he said, rolling his eyes. "A haunted quill that writes the name of your next victim? Honestly, you could have done better. At least make it something believable, like an evil chair or something."
Remus, without lifting his gaze from his liquorice, murmured, "A haunted chair would actually be terrifying. Think about it—you sit down, and it never lets you get up again."
"Now that is horror," Sirius deadpanned, earning a chuckle from James.
Peter, however, didn’t laugh. His gaze was fixed on something across the room. Slowly, his trembling hand pointed toward the desk in the corner, where a quill was perched unnaturally upright. Its feathery tip swayed as if caught in an invisible breeze, though the windows were firmly shut.
“You’re taking the piss,” Sirius said, his voice tight despite the grin he forced onto his face. “Right, Peter? Nice touch, though.”
But Peter only shook his head, his lips pale. "I…I swear I didn’t touch it."
Before anyone could react, the quill shot across the room, landing with a sharp snap onto the desk in front of Sirius. It stood upright again, and this time, it began to move. Slowly, deliberately, it scratched out a single word onto the parchment beneath it:
Run.
For a moment, none of them moved. Sirius felt his chest tighten, the air in the room growing colder with every second. Even Remus, ever composed, had sat up, his liquorice forgotten.
“That…” James began, his voice uncharacteristically shaky, “...wasn’t me.”
The door to the room slammed shut.
And the lights went out.
—---
The Marauders turned toward the door as the lights flickered back on, revealing Marlene McKinnon doubled over in laughter, clutching her sides. Her wand was still in hand, faint wisps of magic dissipating from the tip.
“I can’t—” she gasped, tears streaming down her face. “You lot—screamed like—like first-years facing a boggart!”
Sirius groaned, rubbing his face with both hands. “Oh for fuck’s sake, McKinnon. You ass.”
James, his heart still racing, pointed at her with mock severity. “I hope you know you’ve shortened my life span by at least five years. I’ll be writing to my Healer about this.”
“Please,” Marlene shot back, smirking, “like you’ve got enough brain cells to spare for long-term planning.”
Remus, who had finally recovered enough to sit cross-legged, quirked an eyebrow. “I have to admit, that was a solid performance. The levitating quill? Inspired.”
“Thank you, Lupin,” Marlene said, pretending to curtsy. “I aim to terrify.”
Peter, still clutching his chest, let out a shaky breath. “I think I aged a decade. How did you even—”
“Trade secret,” Marlene cut in with a wink, though her grin made it clear she’d been lurking outside the entire time. “Anyway, you should’ve seen your faces. Sirius looked ready to cry.”
“I did not,” Sirius snapped, though his pale complexion and the way he avoided everyone’s gaze suggested otherwise.
“Whatever helps you sleep at night,” Marlene teased. “Anyway, enjoy your ghost stories, boys. Try not to wet yourselves.” With one final cackle, she strutted out of the room, leaving the Marauders in embarrassed silence.
After a moment, James sighed and flopped dramatically onto his back. “Why does she have to ruin everything? That story was gold, and now it’s tainted.”
“Because she’s evil incarnate,” Sirius muttered, crossing his arms.
“You mean, because she’s smarter than you?” Remus quipped, earning a scowl from Sirius.
Peter shuddered and glanced warily at the quill, which now lay harmlessly on the desk. “Next time, can we just play Gobstones or something?”
“Never,” James said, grinning again despite himself. “This is what memories are made of, Wormtail. One day, you’ll tell your grandkids about the time you survived the Terrifying Quill Incident.”
Sirius snorted. “Sure, if he ever recovers.”
And with that, the room dissolved into laughter, the kind that only friends who’ve just embarrassed themselves together can share.
“And either way, you know what this means boys” James said with the kind of bravado that only James Potter could muster up at 2 in the morning
“It means war.”
The boys froze for a moment, the weight of James’ declaration settling over the room. Then, as if on cue, identical grins spread across their faces—mischievous, determined, and utterly unhinged.
“Oh, it’s on,” Sirius said, leaning forward with a glint in his eye that would’ve sent shivers down even Marlene McKinnon’s spine.
Remus groaned, though his smirk betrayed him. “Do I even want to know what your brilliant plan entails, James?”
“Brilliant doesn’t even begin to cover it, Moony,” James replied, sitting up and running a hand through his perpetually messy hair. “This is the kind of war strategy they’ll write about in history books. Generations of Hogwarts students will study it.”
“Right, because pranking Marlene is definitely worthy of academic analysis,” Remus deadpanned.
Peter, emboldened now that the terror had subsided, nodded eagerly. “What are we going to do? Make her quill actually haunted? Turn her hair Slytherin green? Fill her dorm with Chocolate Frogs?”
James shook his head, grinning. “Think bigger, Wormtail. This isn’t just about Marlene—it’s about sending a message. Nobody messes with the Marauders.”
Sirius smirked. “You’re thinking something public, aren’t you?”
“Oh, absolutely,” James said, his eyes gleaming. “We’re going to make sure the entire school knows what happens when you try to scare us. McKinnon might be laughing now, but wait until her robes start singing Celestina Warbeck’s Greatest Hits every time she walks into the Great Hall.”
Remus pinched the bridge of his nose but couldn’t quite hide the chuckle that escaped him. “You’re all insufferable. Just leave me out of it when McGonagall hauls you lot in for detention.”
“Detention’s a small price to pay for justice, Moony,” Sirius said, clapping him on the shoulder.
“Besides,” James added with a wink, “you’re not leaving us out of it. You’re the brains of this operation. We need you.”
Remus sighed dramatically but didn’t argue. He knew full well that resistance was futile.
“All right, boys,” Sirius said, standing and stretching. “Let’s plan this masterpiece. McKinnon declared war, and the Marauders? We don’t lose.”
As the group huddled together, whispering and laughing like the overgrown children they were, one thing was certain: Marlene McKinnon wouldn’t know what hit her.